


Dragon Age: Dissension

by InyriAscending



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dragon Age: Asunder, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyriAscending/pseuds/InyriAscending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To keep the world safe from magic, we Templars do terrible things in the name of the Maker- but perhaps some rules are not as clear as I once believed, and the unrest born of the ashes of Kirkwall’s chantry threatens to burn us all.</p><p>Written for the Dragon Age: Asunder creative writing challenge, January 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Age: Dissension

**Dragon Age: Dissension**

I don’t know why I’m here.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

I think it’s been six days, but it’s always dark in the lower cells, and they feed you (when they feed you, which isn’t often) at odd hours to keep you disoriented. It confuses you, after a while. It makes you more likely to talk.

That’s what the Knight-Commander told us, at least, when we practiced interrogations on each other as squires.

Even as full knights we played at it, in a way, hiding in adjacent cells while someone was being questioned, cracking whips at each other and shrieking, grilling sausages over a brazier to fill the air with smoke and the smell of- well. You get the idea, yes? It makes you more likely to talk.

It sounds awful, I suppose, but the Circle wasn’t like this a few years ago; only true maleficars were kept down here, the ones who managed to get captured and didn’t turn Abomination. The things we did were necessary. I hadn’t needed to be a Templar to understand how dangerous blood magic could be, even in the hands of the desperate.

Especially in the hands of the desperate.

( _I remember- I was fourteen when the Templars came for my brother, at the height of midsummer._

“There were witnesses, serah.” Raising his visor on its hinges, the elder Templar gave a smile that might have been an apology but for the constant twitch at the corners of his mouth. “He led us on quite a chase.”

My mother’s arms fell to her sides, her right hand moving, tracing the old ward against evil in the air. “It’s true, then. ”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And he must go now? It couldn’t wait until the morning, or at least until he wakes?”

He shook his head. “He’s under Silence-” _he said it with a capital S, like saying Andraste’s name or the Maker’s_ \- “until we reach the Circle. Safest that way.”

“May I say goodbye, at least?” Mother pushed me aside with the back of her arm, then took a few steps toward the men holding my brother; when they did not move to stop her she reached up, her fingertips an inch away from his face before she paused. “Messere? His eyes...”

I couldn’t see my brother from where I stood, so I ducked around to get a better view. His eyes were open, but deep solid black, and when he smiled at Mother his teeth were pointed.

“Mama,” he said, in a voice somewhere between metal on a grindstone and a pig at slaughter, “mama, I want-” and he lunged for her throat.

They let him fall, then, and the Templar’s sword took his head off before he hit the ground.)

I haven’t heard whips or screaming yet, but I suppose they won’t need them when they come for me. A Templar Knight in the Circle dungeon- I’d laugh at the irony if I could focus on it for more than a second.

Right now, though, I can’t think of anything but lyrium, Maker help me.

It’s not your vigil that makes you a true Templar, the older knights say, it’s your first sip of lyrium- and your second, and your third. It’s been six days down here, and I’m starting to slip, just a little- remembering my brother, remembering the day I joined the Order like it was yesterday, dreaming of old battles when my muscles ache and my legs cramp.

I wonder what they’ll ask me when the interrogators come.

The viewport on the door slides open and I have to squint against the light.

“Thea? Is that you?”

I can’t see him, whoever it is- my eyes won’t focus. The port snaps shut.

“Be quiet. I’m coming in.” The door unlatches with a faint metallic squeal and opens, just enough for the figure to slip within. He- I think it’s a he- crouches alongside my cot. “It’s me, Thea- it’s Rikke.”

(The Knight-Commander’s sword was cool against my neck.

“Rise, Ser, and greet your brothers and sisters.” He drew back and sheathed the blade, then extended his hand to me. I stood up, slowly, my knees squalling a silent protest after the long hours of the vigil, and barely managed the formal bow ( _feet together, elbows in, right hand over left_ ) I’d spent the last weeks practicing.

It was rather easier when your legs weren’t asleep.

Rikke’s hug nearly knocked me back down, his beard scratching my cheek. “I knew you’d manage. Even with a mage in the family-”

“I know, I know,” I grinned back at him. “The Order’s taking anyone these days.”)

 _No_ , I tell myself. _That was before_.

“What are you doing here, you idiot?” I try to sit up, managing to lift myself up on one elbow before it gives way and I slump back down, scowling. “They’ll kill you.”

“I bought this guard shift off Rossi- he lost at Wicked Grace again and he owed me.” He sets down his lantern and helps me sit up until I’m half-propped against the wall. “I didn’t know where you’d gone- Knight-Captain told us you were out on patrol, then I heard Rossi and Colin talking. You’ve been down here all that time?”

“I think so. It’s hard to remember.”

Rikke sighs. “You’re as twitchy as they said. Is it that bad?” My eyes drift back and forth, from his face to the flask on his hip, and I nod.  

He passes me the little flask and I fumble with the stopper until the whole thing falls from my shaking hands; wordlessly, he takes it back, uncorks it, and presses it to my mouth. There could have been five flasks, or fifty, and in that moment it still wouldn’t have been enough- it’s the way he looks at me, though, that makes me push it away before it’s empty.

“When I was a girl we used to make fun of the town drunk,” I close my eyes and lick my lips. “Next time we’re in Ostwick proper, I’m buying him a bottle.”

“I’ll try to bring more tomorrow, if I can.” He sets something on the bed that smells like a meat pie and sets my stomach to growling, and when I pick it up it’s still warm. “But Andraste’s ass, Thea, why’d you attack the captain?”

“Attack the-” I choke on a mouthful of pie (meat and carrots- nearly better than the lyrium, but only nearly). “Is that what he’s saying?”

“You didn’t?”

I have to work to unclench my fists. “He nearly beat that little apprentice to death over smuggled honey-cakes and a letter from her sister. I heard her screaming in the upper cells, bleeding all over the floor.”

“And then?”

“Has no one talked to her? I brought her to the infirmary.”

He looks away.

“Maker’s mercy, Rikke. Tell me it’s not true.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Thea.”

“I’ll kill him myself, but I swear to you I didn’t touch him. I passed him in the hall on my way to the Knight-Commander’s office, I told him I’d report what he’d done- and I woke up here.”  

“Shh,” he says, “d’you hear-” He turns his head, and suddenly I hear them too: armored footsteps on cobblestones, rounding the corner, closer and closer-

The door flies open.

“Run!” I shove him, as hard as I can, toward the opening; he doesn’t move.

“Don’t bother.” The Knight-Commander stands in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He steps into the cell and nods to Rikke. “So she was telling the truth, then?”

“I think so, Ser. I don’t think she’d lie to me.”

“You- you _bastard_ -” I can’t get the words out.

“I’m sorry, Thea. I had my orders.”

The Commander turns to me. “We had to know, Ser. The mages are near to rioting- the mess in Kirkwall has them riled enough as it was, and now this business...”

“He killed that girl, and you’re calling it business?”

He sighs, and holds out his hand to help me up. “It’s a mess and no mistaking it- the captain will be expelled, I promise you- but they’re asking for you.”

“As a sacrifice?” I stare at him for a long moment.

His eyes are tired, days worth of stubble covering his cheeks. “As a mediator.”

I reach out, and take his hand.


End file.
